


The Sincerest Form of Chaos

by exnihilolo



Series: The Sincerest Form Series [2]
Category: Septiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Septiplier AU, Septiplier AWAY!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8563816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exnihilolo/pseuds/exnihilolo
Summary: Game development can be pretty fun. Especially when one of the developers totally Spiderman saves your ass, earning them a pretty sweet kiss, (though there were no upside down, rainy kisses), a kiss that left Sean 'Jack' McLoughlin with a pang in his chest and a dizzy head. Mark Fischbach didn't really end up much better off either, and he had a game to co-develop, something he couldn't focus all that well on with butterflies in his stomach.Because game development can be so much fun, it takes a long time - two years in relation to this particular game, in fact. A lot can happen in two years; for the better, or the worse.But hey, what's life without just a little chaos thrown in the mix?(Read the prequel to this, The Sincerest Form of Irony, before reading this story.)





	1. America

“This is the final boarding call for flight 550F to Los Angeles, I repeat, the final boarding call for flight 550F to Los Angeles. Please make your way to gate fifteen.” September the seventeenth. A date that had been incessantly floating about in Jack’s head for little round a month. And now, it had finally arrived. He was waiting in the international lounge reading a book when the loudspeaker called his attention. America.  
His primary position as Video Game Producer, or simply, producer for this game was to oversee creative and digital development over a two year period; as well as act as a liaison between Septic Studios and the developers, negotiate copyright licensing deals, gather more funding by pitching the game idea to other companies, as well as overlook and report back on the overall progress of the game. All that, and of course, go to Disneyland. Mark had promised that - as well as a few other things. At this point in time, he didn’t really know where he stood with Mark. By exchanging a few international (and rather pricey) text messages, they were able to give each other their skype, their facebook, and their twitter. Because you need multiple communication services to talk about different subjects at the same time, _obviously_. Through skype mostly, they had talked each other's ears off, and managed to play a few games together when timezones and work would allow. They even managed to play a solid 10 hours of The Forest. Now that was an interesting - not to mention sleep deprived - weekend.  
But neither had spoken of the kiss. Neither had mentioned the possible romantic outcomes of Jack coming to visit. Perhaps Mark didn’t want to speak of it out of respect for Jack, seeing as last time they saw each other, Jack and his ex hadn’t fully worked things out yet. Or perhaps Mark regretted kissing him, and wanted to forget about it. Or perhaps, he had lost all romantic interest in him. Or perhaps...perhaps Jack was over thinking it all.  
Without much thought, Jack handed his ticket and his passport over. Smiling at the flight attendant as she chimed a “Have a lovely flight, Mr. McLoughlin.”  
Ten hours and forty-five minutes of nervous anticipation and contemplation. At least there were some good on-board movies he hadn’t seen yet.

Ten hours and thirty minutes in and the plane was circling to land. Jack hadn’t slept all that much, though he did manage to watch _Deadpool_ again, as well as a few other new releases. 

“Good evening passengers, we hope you had a pleasant flight with us on board our Boeing 747. If you would please like to return to your seats as we are beginning our descent into LAX. Local time is currently 8:45 PM and we are scheduled to land at 8:54. The weather is clear, and the temperature is currently 60 degrees Fahrenheit, or 15 degrees Celsius. Please make sure your seat belt is securely buckled until we have been given the all clear to go ahead and disembark the aircraft. Remember to stow your tray tables, open your windows, and turn off all transmitting devices until well inside the terminal. We hope you enjoy your stay in sunny Los Angeles, and thank you for flying Aer Lingus.” Belt buckled. Tray table away. Laptop and phone off. Window open. His stomach curled as the plane descended. 

Before Jack could catch up, he was off the aircraft, through the onslaught of security, and on a bench in the collection zone of the car park, a plethora of luggage gathered at his feet. Mark of course offered to pick him up. Something that was agreed upon before he’d even booked his plane tickets. Now he just had to wait. And with waiting came thinking. Should he kiss Mark? Hug him? Shake his hand? No, a hug seems most appropriate. But, what if Jack smells? Did he remember to pack deodorant? Shit, did his breath smell-

“With that look, you’d think you were contemplating the universe and everything in it.” Being so caught up in his thoughts, Jack didn’t see Mark creep up on him - all hunched forward looking, steeple-fingers under his chin as his elbows rested on his knees. Jack looked up to see a very cheeky looking Mark smiling down at him. Instantly, he got to his feet - though he hesitated. Mark shook his head, muttering a “c’mere” before pulling him into a hug.  
It was everything like Jack remembered it was and then some. There wasn’t a sense of urgency or awkwardness this time, and the pair could enjoy the moment without doubts or anxieties in the back of their minds. Jack pulled away when he felt his glasses digging into the side of Mark’s shoulder. He readjusted them while Mark chimed, “It’s good t’ finally see ya buddy! Flight was okay?”

Mark took the largest of Jack’s bags, whilst he took his laptop satchel, camera bag and carry on. “It was alright, yeah. Bit bumpy comin’ outta Dublin, but that’s just Ireland really. Apart from that it was fine.”

Mark nodded as he brought him round to his car, using his free hand to pop the trunk.

“What was the address of your apartment again?” Mark heaved Jack’s bag into the back as Jack chucked the rest of his stuff in the car. 

“Three hundred and forty-three Mansfield lane. It’s an apartment complex I think, in Silverlake.”

Mark giggled.

“What’re you laughin’ at?”

Mark giggled some more. Then he puffed his chest out and stuck out his lower lip. “Tree hundred and forty tree. It’s an apartment complex I tink.” He mocked

“Hey ya know what fock you Mark that was a shitty accent.”

“Fock you Merk that was a shitty ack-sint.”

“Fockoff!” God, he’d been in America for five fucking minutes and this was apparently how it was gonna be. They hopped into the vehicle - Mark acting like a right royal child. They had talked so many times over skype when playing video games, why now did he feel the need to mock his accent? As annoying and slightly offensive as it was, Jack found it sort of endearing. He couldn’t describe it - seeing Mark smile and laugh in such a genuine way, despite it being at Jack’s expense. “Is this really what I have t’be subject to for two fockin’ years?”

“Aw I’ll go easy on ya bud. Only cos I like ya.”

Jack mumbled and grumbled as he crossed his arms. “Tá tú ar leathcheann. Try fockin’ mock that ya ass.”

“I- ya know what, I’m not even gonna try.” Satisfied with Mark’s resignation, Jack took this opportunity to look outside the window. They made it to the highway, and the orange glow of road lamps passing by Jack’s unfocused gaze was enough to lull him into a dreamless sleep. He’d had to take a late night flight from Dublin, though didn’t seem to be able to sleep on the plane. Nerves? Anticipation? Whatever it was, he was certainly glad to catch a couple z’s.  
A soft melody was the next thing he heard. It was low, like a hum but with more of a body to it. Jack thought it was the radio. But there were no other instruments from what he could hear. Wakefulness soon overcame any other remnants of sleep, and the sound he heard became clear.

“I’ll try out all the cameras  
to see what they do.  
Let’s check the animatronics-  
-did one of them just move?”

Jack stirred as the lyrics became more clear. Mark quickly ceased his singing before clearing his throat. “Oh he awakens! Rest well, sleeping beauty?”

Jack grumbled something incoherent before adjusting his glasses and sitting up. “You try sitting on a fockin’ plane for near eleven hours with a hard case of jet lag, see how you feel.” He paused. “What were you singing by the way?”

“Uh, nothin’ really. Just- hey looks like we’re here.” Mark pulled up outside an apartment complex. It was simple, though looked tidy enough, with five stories and an elevator. Still slightly dazed, Jack yawned before hopping out of the car. It was a pretty nice place considering it had been provided by Septic Studios. They were not the most well known company, though they had partnered with various international and local game developers to produce a range of games. Most thus far had been fantasy RPGs, but they also specialized in platformers and First Person Shooters, starting out on working with indie developers and then gradually working their way up the ladder. Jack had only been a VGP once before, so he was pretty lucky to be shipped out here in the first place, and Game Theory seemed to be a promising project. 

Mark helped with his bags (obviously) and Jack pretty much collapsed on the couch as soon as he opened the door. Mark scoffed at him before dropping his stuff down. “Are you at least gonna get into bed?”

“M’fine ‘ere.” Was all he managed to reply with.

“Do _not_ make me carry your ass, Jackaboy.”

With a groan that practically reeked of oh woe is me, Jack pushed himself up to glare at his companion. “ _Still_ with that damn nickname.”

“Yup. Told ya it was gonna stick around.”

“Fockin’ asshole…” 

“Wow Jack, _reaal_ original.” Banter ensued, though it did not last for long. Jack was utterly spent - despite it only being ten fifteen. He'd been awake much later on may occasions without issue. At least he had the conscious abilities to send Mark away before it got too late and his sleep deprived mind got _ideas_. Jack practically shoved him out of the door with a few mumbles of ‘thanks’ and ‘I’ll message you tomorrow’, then he crashed almost instantly. Screw food, he was jet lagged and tired. Tomorrow for sure, he’d sort this apartment out.

 

It was twelve-thirty the next day and Jack had barely moved from where he currently sat. To be fair, he woke up at eleven-o-six. Jet lag, he told himself. So far he’d survived on black coffee (thank the lord there was some nescafe in the pantry) but at this point, he really needed something more.  
The internal justification for messaging Mark was something along the lines of being a stupid tourist and not knowing where to go - a line he also used to justify to Mark.

_Sean McLoughlin: im a stupid tourist and have severe hunger pains help_

_Mark Fischbach: i can recommend some good places if ya like?_

_Sean McLoughlin: but what if i get robbed again mark who am i gonna drag to the hospital after theyve been knocked out?_

_Mark Fischbach: what?!?! someone else saving my jackaboy??! there in 10_

Who knew Jack was the author of _Sliding into yo DMs 101_? Maybe he should have slid in twenty minutes later though, because he was still in his pajamas and yet to have washed since being in the US. But the “my jackaboy” was worth it. Now he was blushing. Shit.

It was gonna be a power shower because so help him Mark was not going to see him like this. Except his bag was a mess from trying to find his pj’s last night, so after his shower, he was digging furiously through the contents of his bag as he clutched a towel around his waist.  
_Buzzz_. Someone was buzzing his apartment at the entrance. He haphazardly threw on a blue shirt, still clutching a towel around his middle. 

“Mark?” He queried through the intercom.

“Noooo! This is the handsome prince here to save you from the treacherous hunger pains!!”

Stupid Mark being cute and making Jack blush again…"Yeah yeah alright c’mon up yer highness.” 

Okay okay okay. There was an elevator in this building, so Mark was likely to get here in under one minute. Jack practically ran the short distance to his room and whipped on the rest of his clothes, taking no mind to the blue shirt that had gathered multiple dark patches from clinging to Jack’s still damp front - which in turn, caused said shirt to ride up and expose half of his stomach. 

Knock knock knock. “Eughghhuhuhghhguhgh It’s the crrraaazed butt stabber!! Oooo!!”  
What-  
What the fuck Mark. Jack didn’t even dignify that with anything and opened the door with a _wtf_ face. Mark grinned and did that eyebrow thing he did when he was being cheeky. 

“If it weren’t for the fact I know you are a complete and utter twat, I wouldn’t have even opened the door.”

Mark opened his mouth to reply, however his eyes caught sight of something else, and irises of hickory found themselves drowned in a pool of black as Mark’s pupils blew up. He coughed, trying to mumble something incoherent. Mark was suddenly very red; drinking in a flushed, partially exposed, kinda damp, tousled-hair Jack. Jack knitted his brows together in confusion, until he followed the line of Mark’s sight. It was then that Jack noticed his exposed abdomen and fumbled around his words as he scrambled to pull his shirt down. Jack also, was suddenly very red.

“Oh uh, sorry about- that there...I, I um...well I had a shower so I’m wet- wet from the shower!- S-so the shirt- it- uh, it must’ve...yeah.”

Mark cleared his throat, eyes raking back up to meet Jack’s. “No no it’s fine, uh, Jack. I mean it’s not bad or...anything. We’re both adults. It’s cool.” He bit his lip as his brows furrowed, trying to seem nonchalant. 

“Yeah no...totally fine. Uh, imma grab another shirt, but come in.” Jack practically ran to his room. Yeah that totally wasn’t cripplingly awkward for both parties. Although, Mark didn’t seem to mind all that much-  
Mind out of gutter, Jack.

He settled for a maroon long sleeve and briefly contemplated bringing a hoodie.  
Yeah, it was autumn. But it was also LA, and the winters here were probably warmer than Irish summers. Jack brushed his teeth, because, well coffee breath. Not that Mark would get close enough to smell it anyway. But still. Exiting the en suite, he caught a glimpse at his hair. Oh lord. Better cover that shit with a hat. Or a beanie - which seemed to be the only thing he could find at this point in time. Ready-ish to go, Jack (with all of his clothes actually on) strode out to find a patiently waiting Mark - sitting on the couch in which Jack had inhabited no more than twenty minutes ago with his hands on his thighs. 

“Good to go?” Asked Jack.

“Yup.” Was all Mark replied with. Patting himself down, Jack checked for his key, wallet and phone. All present and easily accessible. Though he should probably buy a key ring soon, because a single key floating around his pockets could easily be lost if he wasn’t careful. (Hopefully that’s not some form of ominous foreboding!!)


	2. Three Twins

“Where are we goin’?” Jack inquired, waiting for the elevator to reach the bottom floor.

“Well that depends on what you feel like eating.”

“Well I didn’t have breakfast,” he mused, “so anywhere with big plates and big portions will do me just right.”

The elevator dinged as the doors opened. “Can do buddy-o!”

Jack resisted the urge to externally cringe at the ever so enthusiastic _buddy-o!_

“Uhm, there’s Honey Bee’s, only they’re a little further away, or,” Mark went around to hop inside the. “There’s this really cool place called Jacks N Joe. It has great Yelp reviews.”

Jack jumped in the passenger side as he contemplated the options. “Never used Yelp but it seems promising.”

“Ayy that’s the spirit!” The engine purred to life - Mark drove off.

“...So, do I get another singing session? Now that I’m awake?”

“No you most certainly do not!”

{~}

It was one forty five. Jacks N Joe closed at two. They’d arrived at one on the dot, and in the space of three quarters of an hour, had consumed two full plates each, as well as an extra side of bacon and copious amounts of orange juice. They were well and truly stuffed.

“So do you wanna get some ice cream?” 

“Hell yeah I do.” The two vacuums split the bill and drove out to Santa Monica, because Jack just _had_ to see Santa Monica and _had_ to visit this one particular ice cream parlor in Santa Monica, according to Mark. 

“This place called Three Twins Ice Cream is one-hundred-percent organic, and they have the best waffle cones in the state.” Mark harped on as they drove. “Seriously, they are the best.”

“You seem to have a strangely avid fascination with this place.”

“Well I have been there many times. Like a, sugary home away from home.”

“Ohhhh I see, it’s one of those ‘impress your friends’ places. Like taking a girl to a fancy restaurant and telling her she’s the only one you’ve taken there, when in reality you’ve been there so many times the staff can recite your food order and cheesy compliments off by heart.”  
Oddly specific; oddly suggestive, McLoughlin.

Mark smirked. That wasn’t a good sign. “There are very few people I’ve ever taken to Three Twins.”

“Go on then what number am I?”

“Number one.”

Jack tried his very best not to blush and giggle like a twelve year old girl being called pretty, and settled for a, “Well then I feel honored to be the test dummy for your future, ‘endeavors’.” Mark only smiled in response - though it was a genuine smile. A smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth as his eyes crinkled. Not toothy and silly, or sly and suggestive. Happy. Before he could snap out of his daze, Mark caught Jack looking at him, and Mark winked. Jack blushed; just the reaction Mark had hoped for. 

Santa Monica was only a short drive anyway. Mark parked in a space close to a tourist bus, raising his eyebrow at the hoard that began to take pictures as soon as the doors opened. Jack took no notice, and instead cast his eyes to survey the area as he got out. Wasn’t there supposed to be a pier here or something? Santa Monica pier, the thing on all the postcards? Ah well, Mark definitely knew LA better than Jack anyway. The breeze was ever so slightly brisk, though was combated by the sun pelting down from the cloudless sky above. Good thing Jack didn’t bring his hoodie, otherwise he’d have to have taken it off and carried it around. Not that big of a deal, but an inconvenience anyhow. But now he was regretting not bringing any sunglasses as he squinted at Mark for guidance.

“Follow me, good sir!” Mark chimed. Jack rolled his eyes, following along while observing the surroundings.

“It’s too bad I forgot to bring my camera.” Jack wondered out loud.

“Just use your phone, nowadays they’re almost as good as proper cameras.”

“Yeah I guess...it’s just that I uh, I run this blog and post photos on it. Sometimes videos if I can be bothered to edit them.”

“Oh really?” Mark seemed genuinely surprised by this, “What kind of photos and _slash_ or occasional videos do you post?”

“Well it’s pretty much just random amateur photography - anything I see really. The videos are like theme showcases; say I like a particular place then I’ll take some photos and edit them together to make a video. Or say I wanna explore the theme of summer, I’ll take photos relating to that theme and mash them together. Add some music, transitions - and boom. You got yourself a video.” Jack had his hands in his jean pockets, keeping pace with Mark as he explained everything. “It’s just a hobby, but I always enjoyed working with digital tech. I actually studied music technology when I went to university. I even did a stint in hotel management.” 

“How’d you get into video game production?”

“Music wasn't really working for me. My band split up-”

“Dude you were in a band?!”

He awkwardly chuckled, “Uh, yeah. I played drums.” Mark seemed _genuinely_ impressed, and Jack seemed _genuinely_ surprised. 

“I played the _trumpet_ in high school. You can image how popular I was.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the trumpet! Besides, your trumpet playing hasn’t affected your adult self- much…”

“Hey!” Mark nudged the other man with his shoulder causing him to stumble slightly. “Asshole…”

“Aw don’t be salty Markimoo.”

Mark stopped walking. Eyes narrowed. Head tilted slightly. “Did you- did you just call me _markimoo_?”

Markimoo. _Markimoo_. He had no idea where it came from, but for some reason, ‘markimoo’ seemed to pop into Jack’s head as opposed to just ‘Mark’.  
Now this would surely get him to stop calling Jack ‘Jackaboy’

“That’s right markimoo. I think I’ve found your new nickname, _and I think it’s gonna stick_.” He mocked. There was so much smug energy in Jack’s body that he strode forward - chin raised and all - and completely missed Three Twins, even going as far to miss the giant flowing banner labeled _Three Twins_. And if that wasn’t enough, he then proceeded to bump into someone; someone who had been carrying a large drink that now lay on the floor, the contents spreading out on the pavement. Jack’s pride suddenly shrunk away back into the pit of his stomach, and was soon replaced by sheer and utter terror. The man he’d bumped into had to be at very least six-three, and had turned around in that slow and brooding way, frown already etched into his face.

“I’m- I’m so s-sorry.” Jack stammered. Mark, thank the lord, dragged him away and waved a quick ‘sorry!’ to the freaking giant staring them down. Three Twins served as a welcome haven. They mixed into the crowd rather well - despite Mark’s red floof - and Jack took a deep breath.

“Well that was fun.” Said Jack in a sarcastic, slightly weary tone.

“Welcome to America buddy.” Mark gave him a pat on the back, laughing at his blatant tourist-ness. The flock of people had successfully hidden them, though now they were stuck in a right royal cluster fuck - people trying to get in, people trying to get out, people who just looked genuinely confused about the situation they were in. Turns out the majority of the people there were from the tourist bus that Mark had raided his eyebrow at, so it wasn’t too long until they all shuffled out, fanny packs securely readjusted and sun visors back on their respective heads. Comically cliche, only on the brink of being unironic.  
Mark brought Jack forward to the counter so he could survey the choices. 

“Heya Mark, same as usual?”

“Yup.” He beamed at the woman behind the counter.

“And for you, sir?” She cocked her head at Jack with an ice cream scoop in her hand.

“Uh…” Some of the flavors were common - vanilla, caramel, cookies and cream - but some of the other ones - cardamom, butterscotch pecan, chocolate malt - were kinda strange. Maybe he’d come back with Mark and be adventurous, but for today, he stick with a more conventional flavor. “Cookies and cream, please.”

“Waffle cone or cup?”

“The cone I guess…?” Mark nodded at him, Jack nodded at the server, she nodded at both of them.

“I promise you, this is hands down the best ice cream you will ever taste.”

Jack ‘mmhm’ed, muttering a “we’ll see”.

“Seriously Jack,” Mark dropped his voice and leaned into Jack’s side, “it’s _orgasmic_.”

“Mark!”

{~}

Who the fuck bites their ice cream? Mark, apparently, much to Jack’s disdain. But Jack couldn’t justify savoring it without Mark making it some stupid innuendo. “So you just gotta lick it nice and slow?” “How long should the tongue strokes be?” “Do you start at the base then drag the tongue up?” Jack was done with his shit, so he moaned and groaned at Mark until he agreed to take him home. The afternoon had pressed on to early evening. They’d spent their time together driving around the Santa Monica area - but it wasn’t all just sightseeing, Jack had actually managed to exchange some of his Euros for dollars and do some grocery shopping.  
What a productive wee sunflower.

The sky had lost its vibrant blue hue, apricot and pastel violet brimming the horizon as the sun sank lower in the sky. They were on the highway again, talking about the most random things. Sooner than expected they had made it back to three hundred and forty three Mansfield lane. Mark lugged the few bags of stuff Jack bought earlier, placing them at the door of Jack’s apartment. 

“Thanks for today Mark. I really appreciate it.” Jack had his back to the apartment door. His bags were at his feet. 

“Hey it was my pleasure bud. I had a great day.”

“I’ll see you on Monday yeah? At the studio?”

“You got it. And you’ll finally be able to meet Matt. Are you sure you don’t need a ride-”

“Yes, Mark, I can get myself from place to place without your taxi service.”

“Alright, alright! Just being polite!”

“Thank you.”

“...At least let me help you with your bags.”

“Damn it Mark I’m not incompetent! There are four fockin’ bags.” Jack rolled his eyes in a playful manner and patted his pockets to find his key. “Shit…” he muttered, digging into his back pockets.

“Everythin’ okay?”

 _Damn it_ , Jack thought as he moved onto his front pockets. His first full day in America and he’d already lost his friggin key. Just fantastic. He knew this would happen. He just _knew_ something like this was gonna happen - he’d thought just today that he should have bought a damn key ring before coming over- 

“Oh never mind I found it.” Jack chimed. Mark gave him a sideways stare as he pulled a brass key from that awkward pouch in the front right pocket. For a moment, Mark looked almost disappointed, though flashed Jack a relieved smile.”I can manage with the bags Mark, thanks for the offer though,” Mark bit his lip momentarily, nodding with a resigned sigh. Jack hauled his shit into the apartment, turning around to see Mark off. “I really do appreciate you showing me around today.”

“Anytime Jackaboy - apart from, ya know, when we’re working.”

“Agreed,” Jack chuckled lightly, “so I’ll see ya Monday.”

Mark nodded and waved, and with the dorkiest smile, chimed, “buh-bye!” as Jack closed the door. He smiled. Jack cleaned his apartment with that smile on his face. He ate his dinner with that smile on his. He went to sleep with that smile on his face. As he drifted out of consciousness, the smile on his face was replaced by thoughts of Mark.


	3. Red and Yellow sign

Four weeks, six days, nine hours and roughly thirty seven minutes. Still no kiss. Not that Jack was bitter or anything, maybe a little disappointed, but it wasn’t the end of the world. I mean, Mark did say that he’d wait. He’d wait for Jack. He sighed. Jack knew that this was all ridiculous - him feeling this way all because a guy he may or may not have had a thing with hadn’t made a move. Maybe Jack should be the one to make the move? It was too late to be worrying about this. He had a meeting with Hunter Link Financing in two days time about gaining more funding for Game Theory, and needed to start writing up his pitch tomorrow. Not to mention poor Matt had been ill too, so they were a little behind on some things; nothing that he and Mark couldn’t handle though, yet Matt still insisted on coming into work because all of his design and computing stuff was there. Jack had pondered whether or not that was admirable dedication or plain lunacy.  
He placed the file he was flipping through of the final character concepts down when his cell started chiming. He dug it out from his jeans pocket.

_Skype: Vee is calling_

Jack went still. He let it ring out for a little bit before hitting decline.

New Skype Message,  
_Vee: sean, im sorry to call out of the blue like this. can we talk? xx_

He placed his phone down, staring at the wall, blank expression.  
Shit. 

He picked up his phone timidly and replied.

_Sean McLoughlin: its late here. could we talk another time?_

Sent. The reply was almost instantaneous. 

_Vee: babe please, i really want to speak with you. i promise i wont be long._

Jack was the one who ended up ringing. He was partially zoned out waiting for the call to connect. It was part exhaustion, part shock. Vee picked up and there was a silence. 

“Hi...thank you for agreeing to talk with me.” Her tone was quiet. 

“What did you wanna talk about?” Jack was blunt, straight to the point. 

“I-” she paused, “I miss you, Sean.”

That was exactly what Jack didn’t want to hear. He rubbed his face with his spare hand, quietly sighing. “Listen, Vee-”

“I know you’re angry with me, but can’t you just hear me out?”

“You didn’t give _me_ the chance so why should I give it to you?” Jack was perhaps acting too brazen, a little childish, but she had said some pretty horrible things to him. When he tried to explain, work things out, she didn’t listen. She cared too much about her own self interests to even consider Jack’s happiness - to compromise.

Vee did not respond instantly. There was some shuffling from her end of the line, then a sniff. “I’m so sorry Sean. I mean it.”

“I know. But I don’t think we can make it work. What’s to stop you from suddenly changing your mind about going long distance?”

“I’ve changed, realized how much I love you.”

Jack felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed it down. “I loved you too, Vee. But I don’t think this is going to work out for us.” Vee was audibly crying by now, soft sobs trying to be contained. Jack was struggling to hold back from letting his voice waver. “I’m sorry.”

Vee took a deep, shaking breath. “I’m sorry too, Sean.” No one spoke for a few moments until Vee murmured, “So this is goodbye?”

Jack blew out his breath as he looked up, trying to stop what felt like inevitable tears. “I guess so. I wish you all the best, Vee.”

She sniffed once before replying. “And to you, Sean. Best of luck with the game.”

“Thanks.” Silence. “Bye, Vee.”

“Bye, Sean.” There was a bliup as the call ended. Everything felt still. The air was too stiff, and a sudden sense of claustrophobia overwhelmed him. Then it all came out. Sickening sobs that made him curl forward and hang his head. For all of the time he had been here, Jack had tried to keep Vee out of his mind. Most of the time he succeeded - Mark’s presence had helped with that quite often. Sometimes Jack would see something that reminded him of her, though he’d manage to quickly brush away those thoughts, seeking solace in his work, or even in Mark and Matt.  
Only now did everything come rushing back in an instant. Not only the sour memories Vee had left, but all the good ones too. The fond memories in which he could never relive; the times in which Jack truly felt in love.  
So he wept. Through his tears he picked up his phone and composed a message.

_Sean McLoughlin: hey mark, i know youre probably sleeping and all, but i really need someone to talk to._

Deleted.

_Sean McLoughlin: hiya markimoo! sorry to disturb you, but could we talk for a little bit?_

Deleted.

_Sean McLoughlin: mark, i really need you right now. please, i need to talk to you._

Deleted. 

Jack turned off his phone. He left it on the kitchen counter, and went to sleep. He didn’t dream that night - no vivid colours or dramatic tellings of grandeur. It was a shallow sleep that didn’t fulfill him much when he woke. His eyes were sore and dry. He was still in his clothes, lying on top of the covers in the foetal position. He checked his watch, reading the time as six-o-three. Might as well get up. Jack went into the living room and turned on his phone. An email from an online store called Red Bubble, a Tumblr notification and reminder to draft up the Hunter Link presentation. How thrilling. Seeing as he had two and a half hours until he was supposed to arrive at the studio, Jack took this time to try and focus his mind on other things - that presentation was tomorrow, maybe he should get a head start on writing it up. Jack got himself set up, but he didn’t do anything. He only sat in solemn silence whilst time ticked, typing one sentence then deleting it. That pattern went on for about an hour and a half until the silence was interrupted by a familiar chiming. 

Jack almost had a heart attack. Oh god...she’s calling again? No, it’s way too early for it to be her. He thought to himself. There was a moment of hesitation before he picked up his phone. 

_Skype: Mark Fischbach is calling_

Jack hit accept. 

“Hey Mark.” His voice came out raspy from the lack of sleep.

“Mornin’ Jack. I’m sorry it’s a little early but, I have some bad news…”

 

{~}

 

“I still don’t understand why you need me to come to the store with you.” Mark had picked up Jack not long after he called him - though he’d given him an ample amount of time to get properly dressed.

“Becaaause Matt’s sick and I wanna get your opinion on which computer I should get before we head to the studio.”

“It’s a laptop Mark, not a tattoo. Besides, you could always get that one repaired.” Jack flicked his head to the laptop sitting in solitude on the back seat.

“Meh.” Mark chimed. Seriously, if chiming was a regular human noise, Mark would epitomize it. “Still need your opinion.”

Jack rolled his eyes. He was immensely tired, his mind was jumbled from last night - Mark’s abnormally chirpy mood was disconcerting. “Is Matt okay? You said he seemed pretty sick on the phone.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine but he looked terrible last night when I went ‘round to see him. I mean you saw how he’s been the past week, think that ten fold.”

Jack’s face contorted into an expression of sympathy crossed with sheer horror. “Poor guy.”

“Yeah. His wife Stephanie is out of state for another day so I’ve been checkin’ up on him.” Mark didn’t say anything else for a little bit. Jack decided to change the subject. “Won’t all the electronics stores be closed at this time of morning? I mean it’s only,” Jack checked his watch, “eight thirty-four.” 

“Oh I know a place.” Said Mark, smirking. “Nah most places open at nine so we’ll only have to wait around for a few minutes.”

 _What are you up to ya dodgy bastard._ Jack thought to himself.  
For once in his damn life Mark actually had the stereo on, something from a band called X-Ambassadors was playing. Most of their car rides had been filled with random banter or odd comments about passing things. But today Jack really wasn’t in the mood for witty debates or comical puns. Something Mark picked up on apparently.

“Is uh, everything okay, Jack?”

Jack made a ‘hmm?’ing noise before delivering an unconvincing, “Yeah I’m fine.”

“Um...are you sure?” 

“Mhmm.” Mark did not press on the issue. What Mark did do however, was suddenly get very excited and turn up the volume of the car radio. Jack recognized the tune, the electric keyboard and the drums, as well as the “do do do dooo”s and “ahhhh”s, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on the name of the song…

“Where have all the good men gone  
And where are all the gods?  
Where's the streetwise Hercules  
To fight the rising odds?  
Isn't there a white knight  
Upon a fiery steed?”

Jack couldn’t form any coherent thoughts as Mark continued to sing. He just sort of, sat there, stunned in awe.

“I need a hero,  
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night.  
He's gotta be strong  
And he's gotta be fast  
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight.”

Mark sung the whole song. Word for word. But the thing is, he was actually really good. Jack had only heard him sing once - he was half asleep, but it was nothing compared to this. On key, loud in all the right places, even disconcertingly enthusiastic about the lyrics. Jack’s brain spun until the song finished. Casually, Mark turned the radio down to a regular volume as if nothing had happened. Lorde began playing in the background. Jack sort of looked at him like, _what-the-actual-fock-was-that-Mark_. Not only was the singing especially well done, but just the fact Mark knew how to sing that particular song so well. No, screw Justin Timberlake or Frank Sinatra, questionable 80’s songs featured in Shrek were the real money makers apparently.

“What?” Mark briefly caught Jack’s stunned if not slightly concerned gaze. And there was that fucking smirk again. 

Then, Jack started to laugh. There was no exact reason, he just decided to laugh - at Mark, the song, the combination of both. Now Mark was laughing despite himself. A sudden and great weight was lifted from Jack’s chest. He didn’t realize it at first, too preoccupied with the elation in his veins, but when he began to feel dizzy from laughing so hard, the sinking feeling in his gut had been replaced. Jack decided he wanted to hold onto this feeling, instigating trivial conversations and questions with Mark just because he could. He even tried to get Mark to sing the Adele song that came on despite an adamant protest. The rest of the car ride fell under the random banter category. 

 

“Uh, isn’t this a little far from any and all forms of retail civilization?” The green one stated, nodding at the long highway they’d been driving on for sometime.

“Yup.” Was all the red one replied with. 

Jack gave him a puzzled look. “...but isn’t the whole point to find-” 

Mark shushed Jack, “Everything‘s under control Jackaboy, just relax and you’ll see.”

“I’ll see? What the fock is that supposed to mea-” He stopped mid sentence. They’d passed a giant red and yellow sign that contained some rather, interesting information. “Mark…”

“Yes Jack?” He replied, completely nonchalant.

“Did that,” he paused, “did that just say Disneyland?” Mark stayed silent as they drove, passing a large blue monument. “Mark what the fock.”

“I hope you don’t mind not going into work today Jack. With Matt sick and all, I thought we might as well take the day. Ya know, just chill out. Nothing too adventurous.”

“D-do I mind…?” Jack felt his brain swirl finding the right words. Mark payed for a day’s parking, driving up a level to find a place to park. Jack was mumbling all sorts of things, some along the lines of “oh my focking god” or “you sly bastard”.

“Your ticket sir.” Mark handed Jack a piece of cobalt blue card, adorned with Mickey Mouse holding his hands on his hips and that trademark grin.

Mark opened his arms wide, or as wide as they could go inside his vehicle. “Welcome to Disneyland.” Jack trained his wonder filled eyes from his ticket to Mark, an undeniably ardent grin on his face. “Or the Disneyland car park, at least.” 

Jack punched him in the arm, undoing his seat belt. 

“Oh wait, you might want this. It's supposed to get hot today.” Mark reached into the back and pulled out a black cap. Jack inspected the item, at first thinking it was just a regular plain cap,

Jack raised an eyebrow, “ _Work Bitch_? Really Mark?”


	4. Red

Not even his wildest dreams could compare. And though he laughed at himself for thinking such an absurd, childish thing, it was true. Many people have said that the “magic” one feels at a place like this is simply a side effect of commercial marketing and overpriced pizza in dolled up diners. But for Jack, it was so much more. It was something surreal he felt when waiting in line for the first ride, or when gushing to a less than impressed Mark about a ride that almost made the redhead throw up, or buying a cheesy plushy from the first vendor they came across. That, and just the sheer friggin _awesomeness_ of being at Disneyland.

It was almost like the day had gone too fast - even though they’d been at Disney for almost twelve and a half hours. The fireworks were about to start - Mark and Jack had managed to steal a park bench quite near to the castle itself before the hordes had started to gather in the main street area. They had the perfect view.

“Mark,” Jack lent forward to try and combat the noise swarming around them, “I know I’ve said it a bazillion times but, thank you. For all of this.” Jack had indeed expressed his gratitude many times, perhaps not a _bazillion_ , but it was close enough. Entering the park itself, Jack couldn’t stop saying “thank you” “oh my god” “I’ll pay you back I promise”. With each expression of wonder, there was another “thank you”. Mark only ever smiled, uttering a “you’re welcome Jack”.

“And as I’ve said a bazillion times in reply, you’re welcome. Seriously, I’m glad you’ve had such an awesome time.” Mark leaned in a little closer.

“I did. I really did. It's funny 'cause just this morning I- well, last night, I got a call from my ex, Vee. She was telling me how she wanted us t’get back together.” 

Mark, however well he tried to hide it, stiffened upon hearing her name, inching backwards ever so slightly. “So uh, what’d ya tell her?” 

“Told her no, told her we wouldn’t work out. But it- it really bummed me out, ya know? Just brought back stuff I didn’t want to remember ‘n all that. But this, what you did today, it really means a lot. So I will say it again and again and as much as I please - thank you.” Jack patted Mark’s knee. This would have been considered a friendly gesture if not for the fact Jack’s hand remained in its place, his thumb making tiny circular movements as he kept his eyes on Mark. The red head seemed to have released a breath he’d been subconsciously holding. What little light was left, provided by tourists’ phone torches and scattered street lamps, accented the curves and intricacies of Mark’s face. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today. He really suited contacts - but he really suited his glasses too.  
There wasn’t much space between them. Suddenly the air went still around them - there was nobody around anymore. It was all white noise. Centimeters turned to millimeters, lips hung dangerously close to each other. There was an electric current begging to connect, and sparks flew as lips fina-

 _Boom, crack_. The sky lit up a brilliant crimson with the first firework, and the cheering crowd returned. The two men broke away from each other at the sudden noise. There were more booms. The sky had become a mosaic of colour - as a deep indigo faded it was replaced by bright azure, and the pattern continued. Both Mark and Jack had gone rigid, Jack’s hand being thrown off Mark’s leg in surprise, but at least their blushes were masked by the vibrant tinctures that formed dancing shadows on their faces, reflecting on dazed eyes.  
Jack, however, had regained some form of clarity. He looked over at Mark, the other man’s eyes locked in a wide eye stare at the sky as he tried to not _die_ from the sheer embarrassment of what just happened.  
As stunned as he was, Jack felt something red and wild stir in his gut.  
It was now, or nowhere in the foreseeable future. So he took the gamble, grabbed the collar of Mark’s shirt, and kissed him.

 _Boom, crack_. The crowd was livid with excitement.

Mark raised his eyebrows at first contact, though he soon melted upon Jack’s lips. This time, the noise did not disappear - the energy from the fireworks and the crowd fed the fervent passion that swam upon dancing lips. Jack’s grip had loosened on Mark’s shirt, but Mark had brought his hand to cup Jack’s cheek. The fireworks rose and waltzed with each other until their imminent dispersion. But it was the moment that counted, the few seconds where an emerald would marry with a violet, where time would go still just to watch these moments in all their glory. But time would always continue in its constant - the ability to stay fixed a frivolous dream. Mark and Jack took no notice of this, they were in their own uncatchable instant. Savoring each second.

There was a silent rush as reality crept back to separate Jack and Mark. Red was the only colour that sent its flaming hue over the crowd; red for the lips that tingled upon release, red for heat swirling around dazed heads, red for raw desire.

They watched the rest of the fireworks with red palms joined.

They left the park with red palms joined.

They drove with red palms joined.

They held red palms together until red lips could be joined once more.

 

{~}

 

_“And I will see all you dudes, IN THA NEXT VIDYO!!!” Jack screamed at the top of his lungs, raising his arms into the air._

_“YoU DAMn kiDs anD YER TEchnOLOgY!!” Mark came bursting into his room. He was wearing a woolen jersey that was much too big for him, and a stripe of silver spray paint had been painted along the sides of his all black hair._

_“No, Mark.” Jack stood, raising his chin, “I am a mAN. AND THIS IS MY TECHNOLOGY.” He threw his cellphone on the ground. It cracked in half, and from it, sprung a great tree with Walkmans hanging from branches._

_Mark looked petrified, dropping to his knees and pleading to Wednesday to release him from the horror of the modern age. “I AM BUT AN OLD MAN, AND A MAN THAT IS OLD, I AM.”_

There was a haze over Sean McLoughlin’s head. The marigold light streaming in from a crack in the curtains added to the obscurity hanging in the atmosphere.  
Jack had managed to wake up before his seven thirty alarm, a rather, odd dream, pulling him back to consciousness.  
There was a thrumming in his heart - subtle, yet present. He was excited for work today, even though he had that Hunter Link meeting. The meeting he hadn’t written a pitch for yet.  
Well shit.

Thankfully, it didn’t need to be a structured word-for-word speech, so all Jack needed to do was jot down his main points and remember to bring the character concept sketches.  
Yup, it was gonna have to be an extempore extravaganza. 

Breakfast didn't consist of much, not that his stomach would allow him to consume anything other than a coffee and an apple.  
He ran through the things he needed in his head as he prepared to leave, _Character sketches, check. Presentation notes, check. Satchel-_ his phone buzzed just as he was heading to the door. 

_Mark Fischbach: heya jackaboy good luck with your presentation! gonna check up on matt this morning, might take him to the doc if hes not looking any better. ill keep u updated x_

There was a rush that fluctuated up from his chest, coating his cheeks with a garnet veneer. Stupid Mark and his stupid kiss at the end of his stupid text. Oh great, now he was thinking about what happened last night with Mark, _after Disney_ , when he was supposed to be catching a bus - a bus that he was gonna be late for if he didn’t get his damn ass into gear. 

But first, he had to reply to Mark. 

_Sean McLoughlin: aw thanks markimoo! tell matt to get better soon from me. see u after the meeting xx_

Two kisses; a little risky, but not like it was any worse than what happened after Disn-  
_Focus, McLoughlin._

McLoughlin didn’t focus enough it seemed, because he did miss his bus, and then he ran out of data on his phone so he had to wait for the next bus to come instead of just booking an uber. Which in turn, made him late for the Hunter Link meeting. When he stumbled in with disheveled hair and a stuttering apology, he received many disapproving looks and judgmental stares. In the meeting, he apparently lost the ability to form coherent sentences and ended up tripping over half of his words - something he didn’t normally do in these situations. Then when he thought there was no way the meeting could go any worse, when he went to pass round some of the character sketches, he realized he’d grabbed the first drafts instead of the final submissions. Not only that, but he'd forgotten his glasses, so couldn't really see any of the board members all that well. Clearly, something up there was trying to tell him he shouldn’t have gotten out of bed that morning. So after arriving late, delivering a shameful first impression to a bunch of people he could barely see, forgetting how to speak, then handing out the wrong fucking drawings, Jack logged on to the building’s free WIFI while he was in the bathroom so he could talk to Mark.  
He should really just get an American sim card.

When he entered skype, it seemed that Mark had already been trying to contact him anyway. He called Mark, slightly apprehensive.

“Jack, where are you?”

“Uh, I’m currently in the bathroom of the Hunter Link building. Classy, I know. Is uh, everythin' okay?”

He heard Mark huff through the receiver. “Not really. It’s Matt. He’s in hospital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a little short, next chapter should be up soon. :^]


	5. Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy thanksgiving to all my American readers!

“What?! Mark what happened?”

“I don’t- I don’t know Jack…” Mark’s voice broke slightly on the ‘know’. Shit, he was really upset.

“Woah woah woah Mark, tell me what hospital you’re at.”

“Uh…” There was some shuffling, “It’s called Huntington. Huntington hospital, west Cali. Shit Jack I think he’s really sick-”

“Mark, try not to freak out, yeah? I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay…” Mark’s voice sounded heavily laden with emotion. 

“I gotta go but I promise I’ll be there soon.”

Mark seemed to compose himself a little before replying. “Yeah no I’ll uh, I’ll see you soon.”

Jack had never told anyone to ‘step on it’ before, but the driver of the cab he snagged outside Hunter Link was happy to oblige and Jack managed to reach the hospital in under fifteen minutes. When he arrived, Jack didn’t exactly know where to go. He asked at reception if he could see Matthew Patrick, and she directed him to the Reidmarch Wing, room 90. When he got there, Mark was waiting outside room 90 on one of the three cantilever chairs lined up against the wall. His face was buried in his hands, fingers intertwined in crimson licked locks. 

“Mark…” Jack breathed, a heavy tone of sympathy laced in his voice. He looked up, and the face he wore broke Jack’s heart. It was like the skin; which was blotched red, on his face had been drawn down to enunciate his eye sockets, his smoked hickory irises completely devoid of merriment, contrasting the angry tendrils of garnet that had invaded the whites of Mark’s eyes, rimming them red. Bags had formed under his eyes as well. His shoulders slumped, the corners of his mouth had turned down - Mark’s overall spirit had been dialed down a few thousand notches. It was heartbreaking. Jack desperately felt the need to wrap him up and try to console him. So he did. Jack pulled Mark up into a firm embrace, dropping the satchel with all of his papers and presentation notes in, feeling his tense shoulders melt under Jack’s arms. For a few moments, neither man stirred nor moved to release the other. Then Mark sighed and pulled away, his eyes very interested in tracing the movements of his shoes rather than meeting Jack’s. The green head pulled his counterpart down to sit. He kept a hand on the other man’s shoulder as a comforting presence. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Mark took a deep and controlled breath to calm himself down, “Matt, he- I went to check on him this morning - like I said in the text - and he just...he was in so much _pain_ , Jack. F-fever had skyrocketed, he was vomiting a-and his face was all swollen...f-fuck,” his voice had lost its composure and he’d buried his face in his hands once more. 

Jack hung his arm over Mark’s shoulders, pulling him closer as he reassured him with words of comfort. “It’s alright Mark, it’s okay. You did the right thing bringing him here.” Jack pressed gently, “How is he now? Has the doctor said anything?”

“Uh...yeah they- they’re doing some tests and stuff. Doc’s not too sure what’s wrong with him but they’ve got him hooked up to an IV. Doctor Sharp, I think.” Mark said. 

Jack bit his lip slightly, letting the full extent of his concern leak onto his facial features. His eyes were lackluster, hooded by furrowed eyebrows. Creases littered his forehead, and his mouth had pulled into a sullen line. “Do-...do you want me to call Stephanie for you? You said she was coming back today but maybe I should let her know…”

“It’s okay. I called her just before I called you. She’s booked an earlier flight and should be departing in half an hour.” 

Jack nodded, though Mark wasn’t looking at him. “Mark…” Jack began, “he’s gonna be okay. Matt’s gonna be fine, alright?” 

There was little effort from the other man to reply, idly nodding. 

“Mark, look at me.” Jack bought his free hand to cup Mark’s jaw gently, prompting him to lock their eyes as he guided Mark’s head. Mark was worried, he was hurting, at this point in time all that Jack could do was support him. Mark looked up at Jack, his line of sight peaking over the rims of his glasses. “He’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay, because you gotta be strong for Matt and for Steph. You’re gonna get through this Mark. We all are.” Without even realizing it, Jack had begun to ever so softly skim along Mark’s jawline, the pad of his thumb grazing the dark bristles that carpeted his face. Mark exhaled slowly in a soft sigh, nodding as he kept his eyes on Jack. 

“Thank you,” Mark whispered. There was no cue needed nor any form of hesitation; they both leaned forward to press their lips together. Soft, delicate; melting upon each other with blithe air. They did not break for a little moment, savoring the bliss that seemed to tear them from their thoughts, if only for an instant. 

They didn’t end up waiting long until a woman clad in blue scrubs and a white coat approached them. Mark had been sitting with his fingers steepled under his chin, back hunched forward, though Jack convinced him to try and relax, grasping Mark’s hand when he finally set it free. Jack talked about his meeting with Hunter Link, speaking in an optimistic manner, though in all reality the chances of Game Theory gaining funding from them were slim. When the doctor greeted them however, they released their hands awkwardly. She didn’t comment, only bid them able to see Matt after introducing herself with a smile as Doctor Berhow, the one who would be taking over for Doctor Sharp.

When they walked through the door of room 90, Jack was quietly horrified. Swollen cheeks stretched deathly pale skin, the colour only broken by pepperings of red pigmentation. Everything about him seemed devoid of life - even his lips were cracked and lacking colour. 

Fuck this. Jack was gonna hold Mark’s fucking hand if he fucking wanted to.  
Jack felt as though Mark might find solace in the extra comfort. Indeed he did, as Mark gave Jack a warm, yet small smile and a hand squeeze.

“If you’d like to take a seat,” Said the doctor, gesturing to the two chairs along the wall. She claimed another, bringing it from the opposite corner of the room and seating herself in front of the two men. She briefly scanned over the file in her hands, “Mr. uh, Fischbach, correct? You brought Mr. Patrick here?” She nodded at Mark.

“Just Mark - and uh yes, and this is Jack, a friend of Matt’s.”

“Right. Well from the examinations I’ve conducted thus far, as well as receiving the results from the blood test - he seems to have contracted acute nephritis. More specifically, glomerulonephritis. Which pretty much means that your friend here has some very inflamed and infected kidneys. We picked up rather alarming amounts of blood urea nitrogen and creatinine in Matt’s blood, which are waste products that float around in the blood which is supposed to be filtered by the kidneys. The high concentration of these indicate that the kidneys aren’t working very well. In some instances, severe cases of acute nephritis can cause the kidneys to fail, but we’re hoping that won’t be the case with Matt here.”

Jack felt a fracture in his chest, subconsciously tightening his grip on Mark’s hand as he spoke up. “Kidney failure? God...is he gonna be okay?”

“At this stage, we are not sure.” Her tone became softer; she was treading carefully with her words. “But the prospects are looking good - Matt is young and fit and we haven’t detected any other complications. It’s most likely that he’ll bounce back. We’ve only prescribed antibiotics via an IV line for him so far.”

Mark rubbed his face with his spare hand until it trailed up into his hair, fingers pulling tight.

“Mr. Fi- Mark, do you know how long Matt was sick for? Had he shown any alarming symptoms prior to today’s admission?”

Mark exhaled heavily, a shake clearly evident. He raised his head and let his hand go limp. “Uh, a little while...three weeks maybe? Progressively though, the odd sick day that he never really bounced back from and stuff. I’d gone to check up on him a few times when his wife had to leave for a family thing across the country. I thought it was just the flu or something; fever, stomach pain, vomiting sometimes, h-he didn’t want to go to the doctor, he kept coming into work and telling me he was feeling better a-and-” the pace of his words had increased, becoming almost desperate, though he let the slow circles Jack was tracing on his knuckle calm him down. “I didn’t- I was _sure_ he was feeling better…”

“Sometimes it’s hard to pick up on something like this, especially when a patient doesn’t show the more telling symptoms until later on in the infection - much like Matt’s case, it seems.” The doctor held a sympathetic undertone as she spoke. “Do either of you have any other questions?”

Jack got the vibe Mark didn’t feel much like talking, so piped up for him. “How long will he be in hospital?”

“That all depends on the severity of the infection. In Matt’s case, he should only really be here for two or three days.” She paused, apprehensive. “But you must consider the slight chance of the kidneys being too damaged to recover, there is possibility that a transplant or dialysis is required. But that is unlikely with this type of acute nephritis.” Doctor Berhow offered a kind smile. “I know it’s difficult to remain optimistic in these circumstances, but we are going to do everything we can to get your friend back to full health.”

Jack nodded, “We really appreciate it Doctor Berhow, thank you.”

“Of course - is there anything else I can answer for you?”

Jack looked over at his companion to retrieve some form of affirmation or sign of inquiry, though he only remained silent and still. 

“No...no I think we’re good.”

“Alright. Well if you have any other questions then you can get reception to page me.” She stood. Jack said thank you once more - Mark even piped up to give his thanks.  
And then all was quiet. Matt was silently breathing in the hospital bed just across from them, an unconscious mass behind a face of pure sickness. Mark didn’t say anything either. It took at least a minute for Jack to finally say something.

“The doctor seemed optimistic…”

“Kidney failure. Kidney failure, Jack.”

“She didn’t say it was kidney failure. Just an infection-”

“Which could very easily develop into kidney failure! Fuck Jack…he’s really sick,”

“Mark, take a breath,” he had let Mark’s hand go, opting to angle himself on the chair so that he could place both his hands on Mark’s shoulders whilst facing him. 

“It’s all my fault...it’s all my fault…”

“No it’s not-”

“It is! I should have picked up on it, I-I should’ve checked on him more-” Mark shook his head in despair, finally letting the tears that had accumulated over the past hour or so dampen his cheeks. It was almost sickening - to hear the desperate inhales amidst tormented sobs as Mark let waves of violent sorrow overbear him. The tears that adorned his face glistened with a sort of stomach churning beauty. Such opulent accessories dripping down to grace undisturbed skin - a pity they must be wasted on such a gross grievance.  
And Jack was helpless to all of this. No words of reassurance or gentle kisses could console him at this point, so Jack froze. He felt nauseous. Mark shook under the touch of Jack’s hands. He was like a precious crystal vase that Jack had been left to care for - but he was so delicate, so fragile, to move would cause him to shatter. So Jack held him. Powerless.

 _I don’t know what to do...I don’t know what to do..._ the thoughts that swirled around his head were unrelenting, but Jack wouldn’t let them prevent him from trying his best to console Mark. So he buried the notions best he could and mustered the strength to pull the other man in. Mark rested his ear against Jack’s chest, letting soothing arms encapsulate him as he continued to whimper.

Mark didn’t stop crying for another five minutes.


	6. Instinct

“I’m sorry about that- back there.” It was about high time for both of them to get out of room 90 in the Reidmarch wing. The air in that room was so dense, so clogged with an array of suffocating emotion. A coffee was best decided upon, for at least they could take a walk and clear their heads a little. They'd managed to pass reception and head down a hallway pointing to the _CAFETERIA_ when Mark spoke up.

“Sorry? What for?”

Mark hesitated, “Ya know, that whole uh, crying thing.”

“Mark,” Jack stopped to look directly at the other guy, “there’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for, alright?”

“Yeah, alright…”

“And you know it’s not true - what you were sayin’.”

Mark nodded dispassionately. They walked a little more, then he spoke again, “I hope I haven’t scared you off with all of my damn emotions.”

“You? Scare _me_ off? Never.” Jack reached down to hold the other man’s hand.

Fuck yeah, gay stuff. 

“If anything I’d probably be the one to scare you with my insane Pokemon go addiction.” That was a _little_ bit of a hyperbole, but the mood called for a lighthearted change, and Jack was more that willing to oblige.

Mark chuckled. “Wait that game's still relevant?"

"Of course it is! Kinda..."

"Yeah no I uh, I never really got into it to be honest.”

“So, what, you never even downloaded it?”

“Well yeah I did...I’m just no good s’all.”

“Did you at least join a team?”

“Actually yeah, team Insti-”

“Mark whatever-your-middle-name-is Fischbach if you say team instinct I swear to god…”

“Uh,” he paused to think of a response that would prevent Jack from, heaven forbid, _swearing to god_. “N-no?”  
Yeah, real convincing.

“Goddamn it Mark…”

“What? The leader’s silhouette looked cool.”

Jack sighed, “You have so much to learn.”

Mark grumbled something about it being a stupid irrelevant game and let himself be lead into the cafeteria. 

They’d only spent a few minutes away from room 90 in the Reidmarch wing, but noticed upon returning that there was not that same thickness to the air anymore. Mark and Jack drank their coffees just a few meters from Matt’s bedside, casting regular glances at the patient in question. Matt didn’t wake up for another hour, and when he did, he struggled to communicate due to the swelling around his face - which had significantly reduced, though still impaired his speaking. He slept for majority of the time they were there, not that Mark or Jack minded. He seemed miserable when he was awake. Not the same type of miserable you’d expect to see on someone with a severe kidney infection, this was Matt miserable. Seen on anyone else in his situation, one might think he was feeling pretty good. Matt was making jokes best he could through puffed eyes, swearing on the fact that if he had a diet coke he’d be better in an instant, and expressing his concern about everyone's health but his own. “Mark you look a little tired dude” “Jack are you sure you don’t need an aspirin you keep rubbing your head” “You guys look a little pale”. And then he’d be out to it. Yup. Matt was still Matt, but his eyes lacked the spark they usually possessed, and he’d wince after every sentence. The stupid idiot didn’t say anything about it though, only continued to grit his teeth and laugh best he could before he passed out again. This only really happened a few times before Stephanie turned up, carrying her luggage, hair windswept. Well, if Mark had been in Matt’s situation, Jack would be the same. He hoped to god that never happened. Before they even had time to protest, Steph was hugging and thanking them for waiting with Matt and insisting they head home. They were barely into late afternoon, but there was a certain lethargy that clung to the walls of this place. Rather than protest, Mark actually agreed to let Steph sit in with Matt - though he promised to bring her dinner and keep her company if she needed it. She politely declined though, thanking him for the thought. That woman was too damn kind, Jack quietly thought as they made their way to the hospital car park. 

He’d have to report this incident to Septic Studios no doubt, but he could do that tomorrow. Or some other day, when they had more information. Matt was a crucial part of the game’s development, he came up with the idea for the damn thing, but Jack continued to remind himself that he should be better in no time. Hopefully. Game development was a timely process anyway, a week or two of break wouldn’t be the end of the world.

The highway was just as cluttered as it normally was. Nothing like Athlone, not like anything in this city was like Athlone, or Ireland for that matter. Before he became too homesick, just as they’d settled into the steady flow of traffic, Jack asked, “Did ya wanna go get a drink or somethin’? Maybe we can buy actual alcohol this time.”

Mark readjusted the grip on the steering wheel, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah, about that...”

“What, you’re not still on pills for your head are you?”

“No no...nothing like that. I don’t drink. Can’t drink actually.”

“Whatd’ya mean ya _can’t_ drink?”

“Well I- the last time I drank I _kinda_ had a heart attack.”

Thank all the gods and entities in the sky and below the earth that Jack wasn’t driving, otherwise he would have braked so hard they would’ve flown through the windscreen.

“YOU WHAT?!”

“It was nothing too serious, although I did have to go to the hospital-”

“MARK!”

“Jack?”

Jack sat there with his mouth gaping wide. He didn’t really know how to process this information, so he just sort of,  
Stared.  
Mark rolled his eyes with an amused chuckle. That was usually the kind of reaction he’d expect to get when telling someone. He didn’t exactly look like heart attack material - fit, young, it just goes to show how unexpected life can be. 

“Tell you what, how about you come over to mine and I’ll cook for you and then if you’re really that interested I can tell you about my deficient enzyme.”

Jack traded his shock for intrigue, perking a brow, “I didn’t know you cooked.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, “I dabble.”

Jack agreed with a laugh and an “alright then.”  
Then he thought.  
Did he intend for Jack to stay the night, or just stay for dinner? Should he ask him to drop him off so he could grab some things or just leave it? But what if he did stay, he didn’t want to stink the next morning. What about his toothbrush? Did Mark have any coffee? He needed his coffee in the morning otherwise he’d probably bite Mark’s head off. Wait, were they gonna be sleeping in the same bed? Yeah okay, he could probably do that without getting too excited. But what if Mark wanted to- ya know, _get excited_. Oh great, now he was thinking like a 16 year old girl on her first date with her boyfriend. Wait were they even dating? They’d kissed, and held hands, but that didn’t make them a couple, even with that after Disney business.  
Shit shit shit. Now he was just overthinking everything.  
But like, what if Mark was only being polite about the whole inviting him over thing because he couldn’t drink and felt they had to do something because Jack wanted to and he felt pressured to do it so that Jack didn’t feel awkward about being turned down-  
_Chill the fuck out McLoughlin._

“Do you think I should whip something up for Steph? I know she said no, but I still feel bad for leaving her all alone. I doubt that cafeteria food is any good either..”

“I think she said she was going to call one of her good friends to come and sit with her for a bit, maybe we could go and check on her later tonight? Bring her some soup or somethin’?”

“Good call, we’ll make something tonight.” Mark paused, “It’s Edward by the way.”

“Hm? What is?”

“My middle name. Mark Edward Fischbach. Back in the cafe, when you were yelling at me for picking team instinct,” Jack rolled his eyes, muttering about speaking forcefully not yelling, “You said, ‘Mark whatever-your-middle-name-is Fischbach blah blah potatoes and leprechauns oh ho ho’.”

“Oh ha ha. Make fun of me accent. _Again_. Real original, Mark.” He folded his arms with a huff.

“Nooo Jaaack I’m sooorry,” he put on his best apologetic voice, leaning over to poke Jack in the arm - still keeping his eyes on the road of course. The other man batted his hand away with a “sthaaap” and a smirk. “C’mon you know I love your accent.”

Jack straightened his back, “Oh? Really?”

“Uh yeah, of course.”

“Oh. Well, thank you lad, I’ll shout ye a pint a gat until yer arseways to Sunday and ye’ll be happy ‘s larry screaming ‘top o’ the mornin’ to ya!’” Beneath the painfully stereotypical sentence there was a hint of smugness to Jack’s words.

Mark detected this and rolled his eyes. “Still love it.”

Oddly enough, Jack was immensely flattered by this. Living in America meant that he received compliments about his accent all the time, but he was so used to Mark making fun of it - seriously or jokingly - that this was a rather welcome surprise. Jack let a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth before he spoke again. “...William. Sean William McLoughlin. Ya know, if you were interested.”

Mark nodded, ‘hmm’ing as if he was impressed. “Sean William McLoughlin.” He spoke in his grandest voice. “Meh, I can only really picture you as Jack. It sounds weird calling you Sean. I think imma stick with Jackaboy if it’s all the same to you.”

Jack shook his head mirthfully. “I wouldn’t have it any other way Markimoo.” Mark looked over to smile at Jack. He caught it and smiled back. The rest of the car ride was pleasant.


	7. An awesome ass house and the funny business that ensued there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a little fluff before we delve into the feels :D

“You’re Korean?”

“Half Korean, half German. 100% American.”

“Dude I speak a little Korean!”

“No way!”

“Yeah way!”

“Dude that’s so cool.”

“Do you speak any?”

“Hah, yeah...no. No I don’t...”

“And you call yourself cultured.” Jack scoffed.  
Mark had an awesome ass house. He even had a pool. A friggin’ pool.  
Jack managed to orientate himself easy enough. He liked it here, and he’d only been at the damn place for five minutes. When they arrived, Jack was greeted by a large slobbering golden retriever that proceeded to jump up on him, balancing on its hind legs. “CHICA! NO. BAD GIRL.” Mark chastised. Jack didn’t mind all that much though, he loved dogs. And Chica here really was a cutie pie. Jack raised an eyebrow at the name, Mark sighed in annoyance, explaining that the name was supposed to only be temporary until he found something else (after he got her from the shelter, he decided against the pre-picked name, _Sephora_ , but the shelter recommended using a name that ended in “a”, he so picked Chica) but he’d ended up sticking with it after she started _answering_ to Chica. It was Spanish for “girl”, and not based on the character from FNAF, he stressed. Jack rolled his eyes with a chuckle. 

Any previous thoughts about tonight had not returned as he found himself at ease here, that of which he was thankful for. Mark told Jack to have a look around while he gathered his ingredients - he was going to make his mother’s chicken soup. Jack said he would help despite Mark saying he should just relax. Jack didn’t want to relax. He wanted to help with Mark’s damn soup.  
Jack stepped outside onto the patio with the pool. He almost lost his breath.  
It was like he could see all of Los Angeles from where he stood. The sun had already begun to sink in the sky, not quite brushing the horizon, but it was low enough to make a dark tangerine hue cling to the smog. It created a sort of blurring illusion, buildings in the distance becoming nothing but hazy stalagmites. It really was quite stunning. He pulled out his phone to take a picture. Maybe he would do a theme showcase on LA. Through all the smog and questionable characters on Hollywood boulevard, the hipster-vegan-feminists and the rubbish, the city had a sort of hectic charm to it. It was its own sect of insanity reserved for the worker man and his arm candy. You had to be a certain type of mad to live there. Jack snapped a few more shots before heading back inside. The little shit had already started chopping carrots without telling Jack.

“Hey! I told you I was gonna help.”

“Well I-” Mark struggled to articulate, “I’m just- I want you to _relax_. You’re a guest.”

“But I wanna help out. I’m no Gordon Ramsay but I can chop a damn vegetable.”

Mark sighed that over dramatic sigh, “Alright, if you insist!” He placed his knife down, getting Jack one of his own and plonking it down next to two onions. “But you’re on onion duty.”

Jack shrugged, giving his hands a quick wash and getting to it. _Alright Jack_ , he thought to himself, _don’t fockin’ cry. Don’t you fockin’ cry._ Jack could already feel his eyes beginning to burn. He decided to make conversation to try and combat the increasing amount of water that had begun to gather in his eyes. “Dude, this is a seriously nice house. Kinda big and lonely though.”

“Well I used to live with two of my buddies Matt and Ryan - not our Matt another Matt. Actually I know three Matts- anyway we lived here together, it was nice. They ended up,” he made odd gestures with his hands, one of which still had a knife in it, “getting together. Like, romantically. I didn’t even know they were gay, or bi for that matter.”

Jack eyeballed the knife with a raised eyebrow, replying, “What, they were never affectionate towards each other? Touchy feely?”

“I mean,” he resumed chopping. “Now that I think about it, yeah, they kinda were. I always thought it was just a running gag between them. I mean they both had girlfriends at one point.”

“Well _I_ had a girlfriend,” he started, “then I ended up snogging you.”

“Not that you minded though,” Mark interjected.

Jack playfully shrugged. “Meh. It was okay I guess.” That was probably the biggest understatement he’d ever said about anything to anyone. Not that he’d give Mark the satisfaction - no, he’d have to work real hard for that.

Mark placed his knife down - always a good sign - leaning his palm against the bench, holding himself up. He faced Jack as he scoffed. “Okay? It was _oh-kay_??”

Jack shrugged, nonchalant. Before he could catch up, Mark was suddenly behind him. There were hands on his waist. He stopped cutting the onion, placing down the knife.  
_Oh boy._  
Jack turned around in Mark’s hold. He wasn’t that much shorter than Mark but he still had to look _up_ to meet his eyes.  
Mark perked a brow as if to say _oh really bitch?_

“Maybe it was just a little better than okay.”

“How much better would you say?”

Jack tilted his head. “Ya know, I really can’t remember it all that well, sorry.” The green one inched ever so slightly closer, the spark of mischief and desire unmistakable in irises of cobalt. Mark was mere millimeters from closing the gap between them - however, Jack had other ideas, and turned his back so that Mark’s nose ended up bumping a patch of green. He made an annoyed “oww” sound before rubbing his nose with one of his hands - the other one was still glued to Jack’s hip. “But we’ve got a soup to cook, Mark.” He resumed the dicing of the onions with unwavering resolve. "Cut'yer damn carrots." 

He couldn’t see it, but Jack knew Mark was frowning at him as he huffed and grumbled. He dragged his fingertips across the small of Jack’s back as he returned to his _station_. It sent tingles straight up his spine to burst at the base of his neck. Hot damn that felt good.  
Nevertheless he retained his “cut-yer-damn-carrots” attitude.  
And cut his damn carrots he did. _Thwack_ , went Mark's knife with a little too much force. The little baby was pouting as he went about his work. Jack smirked his complacent smirk with no remorse.

Jack cut up all his onions (he only had two) with only _three_ sniffles and _two_ tears. That in itself was an achievement. Dabbing his eyes with his sleeve, he politely asked where the bathroom was. Mark directed him accordingly. God it felt fantastic to douse his eyes with cold water and get rid of that pungent onion smell from his hands.  
He returned swiftly enough, though his eyes still stung - Mark had finished cutting up some celery and had gathered the rest of the vegetables into a big pot. There was also a container of a brownish opaque liquid Jack assumed was chicken stock. 

“What’s next Mar-” Mark had abandoned any form of utensil or vegetable and opted to pull Jack closer by grabbing his hips. All of a sudden there were lips pressed against his own. Jack didn’t know what to do with himself, shoulders raised and breath held. Jack felt the surprise ooze from his shoulders as he sighed upon Mark’s kiss.  
Yeah, this definitely was a little better than okay.

When they pulled away from each other there was a moment of blissful breathlessness.

“So, Mr. McLoughlin, on a scale of okay to other-worldly, how would you rate your experience?” Mark snaked his hands so they rested on the small of Jack’s back. 

He could feel the heat radiating from Mark’s palms. 

Jack needed a little moment to recover, his heart literally trying to beat out of his chest. There was a gleam of roguery in his eyes as he answered. “Meh,” he said, still firmly situated in the other man’s arms, “Adequate.”

“OH COME ON.” Mark exclaimed.

“Naww Mark It’s okay,” Jack ran his hands up the other man’s arms as a soothing gesture (and yes this may or may not have been a subtle way for Jack to feel the other guy up shush) until they landed on his shoulders. “I’ll give you bonus points for spontaneity.”

“And what does that raise my score to then?”

“Satisfactory.”

“That’s literally synonymous with adequate.”

“Shhh sh sh shh,” Jack hushed, “all in due time.”

Before they got carried away or Mark decided to try and raise his score, they both agreed that they should actually stick to the task at hand and make the goddamn soup. It was pretty smooth sailing from there, apart from that one time Mark decided it would be a good idea to whip Jack on the ass with a tea towel. Jack was so close to tackling him it wasn’t funny.  
Overall, it had taken just under and hour and a half to complete - that included all of their funny business. 

Now that He and Jack had finished butchering his mother’s chicken soup recipe, (though it really wasn’t all that bad - quite good to be fair), Mark filled a thermos for Stephanie, then dished up two bowls.

Then he grabbed some day old ciabatta to put on the side because he was classy, and god damn it because he _was_ cultured.

In the other room Jack had been rolling around on the floor with Chica, playing tug-of-war with one of her numerous toys. 

Mark felt his phone vibrate his pocket just as he went to call Jack to eat - Steph’s number popped up on screen.

The next thing that Jack heard was a _clang_ and an “Oh god…”


	8. A different kind of pillow talk

_"It's Matt, h-he's not waking up...Mark, y-you need to be here...please..."_

Mark had broken at least five driving laws trying to get to the hospital.

Matt didn’t wake up until the doctors had successfully resuscitated him. Even then, it was still another few hours until he regained consciousness. Jack, Mark and two of Steph and Matt’s other friends, of whom Jack had not met before, listened with heavy hearts outside room 90 as doctor Berhow delivered the news. Matt’s kidneys had shut down, and he was then diagnosed with renal failure. She explained how quickly the infection seemed to progress, and how sorry she was about not conducting a renal biopsy immediately, as she did not expect such a dramatic decline in such a short space of time. There was a general agreement that there was nothing more that could have been done, and that it was not the doctor’s fault. She briefly explained the possibilities of dialysis or a transplant, what they would entail. After the doctor left, the woman, who only introduced herself as “sparrow”, entered room 90 to be with Stephanie and the barely conscious - if conscious at all - Matt. Mark, Jack, and the guy who called himself “AJ” remained outside. AJ offered to purchase some coffee from the cafeteria - both declined. He left them in a harrowing silence. Mark did not weep. Neither did Jack. It was well into the night when AJ and Sparrow left, sharing tears and reassuring hugs. Mark didn’t want to leave, just like last time. Steph insisted. They were on their way home - it was roughly quarter to midnight - they had not spoken all that much.

Mark had come up and along one of the major highways and soon they had merged with the stream of headlights. “Do you want me to drop you home?” He was monotonous, barely inflecting at the end of his sentence.

“I uh- if you want to.”

“Okay.” 

Jack didn’t know what to say.

They pulled up at three hundred and forty three Mansfield lane. The stars were hidden under a thick blanket of smog. Jack opened his door with sluggish movements. He cast his eye to Mark. He had his forehead pressed against the steering wheel, white knuckles gripping the wheel on opposite sides of his head.  
Then he began to cry.  
Jack didn’t get out of the car; instead, he closed the door, leaned over and hugged Mark best he could in their positions. He listened, then felt his own tears gather and trickle down his cheeks in a slow descent.

“I can’t do this again,” Mark muttered. “Not again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“ _This_ ,” shaky breath, “the hospital, the sickness, everything-” he didn’t finish his sentence.

“Mark, what d’you mean?”

“I can’t do it.” He sobbed. 

“I- Mark, what ever happened in the past, it’s over now. They’re gonna help him. He’s gonna get through this.”

“I thought the same thing about him too.”

“Wha- who do you mean?”

His breathing was uneven as he found the words to speak, “My dad. He was the strongest man I ever knew but he-…” Then they came tumbling down Mark's face, tears like briny bullets of condensation down a windowpane. 

Jack felt a repugnant weight come crashing down on his chest. Mark had spoken little of his family, save the odd story about his brother or their antics growing up. He’d never spoken of his father. Jack never thought to ask.  
So Jack didn’t ask. He hopped out of the car, walked over to the drivers side, locked the car and lead the redhead from outside and in to his apartment. There were no questions asked, nor words uttered. Jack helped Mark clamor to his bed, then left him to his own devices for a few minutes. When he returned once more, Mark was already in Jack’s bed, back to the door with the sheets reaching to cover his shoulders, still clothed with the black shirt he'd worn throughout the day. His breathing had evened out. Jack noted the half black rimmed pair of glasses on the bedside table. Jack tiptoed to the bed to snag a pillow, planning to crash on the couch with a spare blanket. Grabbing one, he snuck back to the doorway when he heard a noise so faint he was sure he’d imagined it. But he hadn’t.  
“Stay,” it whispered.  
And he did.

 

{~}

 

Jack had his arm draped over Mark’s torso when he woke. Mark was on his back, one arm raised above his head resting on the pillow, and the other over top Jack’s hand. The green haired one didn’t want to wake his companion, though could feel his muscles ache with the need to stretch. This was not an issue for much longer however, as Mark soon stirred and groaned with wakefulness.

“G’morning.” He rumbled. It seemed his voice had dropped an octave as it rasped with the remnants of sleep. 

“Mornin’,” Jack replied. He couldn’t help but let a solemn fondness sink into his eyes. It dug through his glacial irises like cracks carving through glass. It was rather pleasant to be able to wake up with Mark by his side, despite their relationship only becoming romantic within the space of a few days. But it was the circumstances that had brought them to this point that caused the twang in Jack’s heart. Last night had been pretty full on. “You feelin’ okay now?”

Mark rolled onto his side so they were practically nose to nose. “Yeah, I am. I don’t really know what happened, honestly...it all just came rushing back.”

“Your dad was ill?”

“Terminal cancer.”

“Shit,” Jack felt that heavy weight on his chest again. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay Jack, really. It was a while ago. I guess just doing the whole hospital thing with Matt it- it just got to me.”

“Fockin’ _hell_ Mark, why didn’tcha say anything?”

“Well I- I thought I was fine, and I _was_ fine, but I guess- yeah. But I’m okay now I swear. Thank you, Jack.”

Jack rested his chin on his palm, elbow keeping him up. “Hey it’s nothing, no sweat.” And Jack meant that. “And it wasn’t _so_ bad ya know - waking up to you ‘nd all,” Jack meant that too - and it was kinda scary just _how_ much he meant it. 

Mark mirrored Jack’s position, elbow propped up. “Yeah, but...do you think it was better than ‘okay’?” Mark bit the corner of his lip, holding back the giggle that bubbled at the base of his throat. 

“Oh fock off Mark.” Jack rolled his eyes, rolling onto his back.

“D'you think it was worth an ‘adequate’ though? Or or or, maybe even a ‘ _satisfactory_ ’? Hmm??”

Jack rolled his head over to deliver possibly the bitchiest bitch face he'd ever bitch faced. Nobody throws his absolutely _hilarious_ humor back in his face like that.

The red headed bastard wouldn't stop giggling until Jack actually whacked him over the head with a pillow. Then, when Jack tried to get out of bed, mumbling and grumbling all the way, Mark grabbed him by the hips and jerked him back down, practically crushing his waist and he held him in a death grip with those stupid and also yes very attractive arms that Jack really liked. Jack almost, _almost_ , elbowed him in the face. He managed to scramble free and retrieve the weapon he'd discarded not long ago, (his pillow) and beat Mark as hard as he could with said sack of synthetic foam.  
Mark grabbed a hold of Jack's wrists - the fucker was strong, but Jack wouldn't go down that easily.

He went down pretty easily.

Jack ended up on his back, frowning at a very smug looking Mark who was hovering over him. Then something in his eyes softened. The deep brown of his irises lost their gleam of mischief. 

Jack suddenly wasn't frowning anymore. 

Without warning, Mark swooped down and pecked Jack on the lips, then dashed off the bed and into the en suite just before Jack caught a glimpse of that oh so familiar gleam returning. “I call first dibs!” He proclaimed, practically slamming the door off it’s damn hinges.

Jack sighed a deep, resigned sigh, hauling his ass into the kitchen, letting Mark have his stupid first dibs on the bathroom whilst he fried up some leftover potato and mushroom from a few nights ago. Then he popped in some toast for good measure, and brewed a pot of dark, aromatic coffee. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” came Mark’s voice from behind him some time later. He turned to the source of Mark’s voice. Mark was wearing an electric blue hoodie, one of Jack’s favorites in fact, with white draw strings that when pulled tight, bunched the hood up. It was a comfortable fit on Jack, with a bit of bagginess to provide ample amounts of warmth and coziness. On Mark however, it was a different story. He was much broader than Jack, and the garment clung to him, accentuating his toned chest and slim waist. He also noted Mark was still wearing Jack’s sweatpants from last night, having offered them to him in case he was cold as a last minute _wait I have a guest staying in my bed I should probably be courteous_. Not that LA was all that cold really. 

“It looked warmer than my plaid.” He shrugged. It took every ounce of Jack’s will power to not let his jaw drop at the mere sight. He offered a sincere smile instead.

“'Course not Mark. I didn’t exactly give you a whole lot of choice when I brought you in.” Jack pointed his spatula at Mark, “Besides, you almost, _almost_ look better than me in it.”

“My jackaboy, I could never.” Mark placed a hand over his mouth in pure-and-definitely-not-melodramatic shock, leaning so that his behind stuck out rather strikingly in Jack’s direction.

“Oh shut up ya damn poser.” Jack mused whilst desperately thinking to himself _don’t look at his ass...don’t look at his ass…_ “Grub’s up.” Yes perfect distraction.

The atmosphere was much calmer now that both men had eaten, they even felt in bright enough spirits to play three team effort rounds of Town of Salem, and innumerable rounds of agar.io on the two-seater couch. Jack left Mark with a round of the online Cards Against Humanity as he stepped into the hall outside his apartment. Time to make a call. It was about closing time at the studio, near on five thirty if he was correct in his calculations.

“Septic Studios you’re with Robin.” Beamed a familiar Swedish accent.

“Robin, hey, it’s Jack.”

“Ahh McLoughlin! What you calling for? We got your last email just fine.”

“Yeah no I uh, I just thought a call would be more appropriate. Is Sam still there or did I miss him?”

“Wha- Jack is everything alright? Yeah Sam’s still here, you want me to transfer your call?”

“If ya could,”

“Alrighty then I’m putting you though. You all good?”

“Yeah I’m uh, I’m fine. We’ve run into some medical troubles with Matt though.”

“Oh shit man! Hope he’s okay. Putting you through now.”

“Thanks Robin I’ll talk t’you later.”

“No worries Jack.” There was a brief dial tone, about five seconds of _The Killers_ , then a familiar Irish voice.

“This is Sam.” 

“Sam, it’s Jack. Hope you don’t mind me callin’ right before you shut up shop for th’day.”

“Ah the international man of mystery! Oh don’t worry about it mate I was only fockin’ round anyway, everybody else’s gone. What’s the craic?”

Jack ended up sitting with his back against the wall opposite his door. “Look I jus’ wanted to call you directly about something.”

“Go ahead,”

“It’s about Matt. He was diagnosed with renal failure just last night.”

There was a moment’s silence, no doubt from Sam trying to process the information being given. “Fock.” Was all he said. 

“Yeah. He’s not doing too well at the moment.”

“D’you know how long until he’s better?”

“No, not really. The doctor talked about how they'd be puttin' him on dialysis - then maybe on the transplant list. I think they’ll have to wait a week or so before deciding, just to see if he gets any better before makin' any solid decisions.”

“Jesus,” the Irishman at the other end breathed.

“Yeah…”

“That’s some rough luck there man. Look I uh, I appreciatecha tellin’ me Jack but this is a bit of a tricky situation. Obviously we care the most about Matt’s health and his recovery, but t' tell ya the truth, I’m just not so sure how feasible it would be to keep funding a game that isn’t progressing. And we wouldn’t want to put any unnecessary strain on Matt’s recovery. Tell ya what, you give me a call about what happens with Matt in the next week or so. Then we’ll need to talk more on th’issue. Worst case scenario, we pull out and bring ya home. But let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Yeah no, I completely understand.”

“But you keep us updated anyhow, yeah?”

“Will do, Sam.”

There was a sudden, churning rush in his stomach. Leave America? _Already_? He’d barely been here a month and a half, and they’d already made such good progress. Not to mention that if he left, it would be because of Matt’s decline in health. Oh god...he really didn’t want to think about that. He also didn’t want to think about the fact he could potentially only have two weeks with Mark left. 

“Everythin’ alright?” Mark queried upon Jack’s entrance, craning his neck away from the computer screen.

“S’fine. I spoke with the studio,” Jack came to sit next to Mark, sighing as he sunk into the second hand cushions. “Work stuff. Talked about Matt.”

“Oh yeah...how’d they take the news?”

“They were pretty shocked. I think all of us were.”

“Yeah…” he trailed off, letting his thoughts drift for a few moments. “What time should we head over and see him do you think?”

“Uhmmm…” he checked his watch, noting that it was nine-oh-seven. “We could head off at half past nine? Now that you’re not hogging the bathroom maybe I can use it now and _actually_ get ready.”

“I wasn’t even in there for that long! You coulda gone just before but you _insisted_ on playing that extra round of Town of Salem!”

“Oh please, you didn’t know how to be the serial killer! You woulda been lynched after the first damn night if I didn’t help you!” Jack lumbered off the couch, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! I _am_ the crazed butt stabber ya know! I know what I’m doing, buddy!” He yelled after Jack just before he entered his room.

Jack turned around, pulling the finger. Mark couldn’t hold back a giggle.

“Fockin' child…” Jack muttered as he entered the en suite.


	9. At the end of all things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all - this is the final chapter of the story!  
> Just wanna say thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, or simply stuck with this story, you're all awesome!!  
> There miiiight be an epilogue, wrapping up loose ends and what not, but we'll have to see.  
> Again, thank you so much to everybody and please enjoy the last chapter. :)  
> \- exnihilolo

It took nearly five days until Matt started to show some signs of improvement. They’d hooked him up to a whole heap of monitors and IV lines, then slowly, he began to regain his strength. It wasn’t in exorbitant amounts however, only to the point where they deemed him able to come off his IV fluids. Matt’s other health prospects, however, weren’t looking so promising. Jack could easily recall most of the doctor’s words; he was a specialist consultant surgeon assigned to Matt’s case, “Due to the extensive amount of damage to Mr. Patrick’s kidneys, we are going to have to place him on a course of Dialysis. There is no real telling how well his body will react, or if his kidneys will heal themselves in due time, or at all, but it is necessary that he go on a three month course as a bare minimum. He’s also been placed on the transplant list. I’m sorry.”  
He had sort of weathered eyes - his face wasn’t all that battered however, Jack suspected he may have been in his mid-forties, but his eyes, mossy pools splashed with rusted iron spikes that erupted from the impossibly black disk of his pupil, they had been hardened from years of saving lives, watching them slip and ascend to another world, and delivering inevitable news. That image had been firmly imprinted in his mind. 

Septic Studios had already made their decision by the time Jack finally got around to calling them - apparently, they didn't even need another update before they'd had a team meeting and decided the fate of Game Theory. The three month dialysis period only cemented Jack's fears. They were pulling out of the game. Jack was coming home. 

"You mean- you're leaving already? Going back to Ireland?" There had been no denying the definite lilt of pain in Mark's voice when Jack had told him the news.

"Mark, it- it just wouldn't be feasible. There's no knowing when Matt'll be better." _If_ he ever got better. "Keeping me here would only cost the company money they wouldn't get back."

" _I'm_ still here though, I'm doing fifty percent of the work it- it'll just take a little more _time_ to get an end product," Mark sounded desperate, it made Jack feel sick.

"It wasn't my decision, Mark..." He spoke softly.

A look of resignation crossed his face as he sighed. "I know, Jack...I know."

His flight was booked for November the fourth. Jack and Mark spent their last few days together. They hadn’t even done anything for Halloween despite Mark receiving invitations to various costume parties because he was _just that cool_. Instead, Mark took Jack to all sorts of places - now that they didn’t have any actual work to do. Jack actually managed to take some photos on his camera for his blog too. However, on Jack’s last full day, November the third, the pair of them cleaned out their studio/office space. Matt wouldn’t be doing it any time soon.  
The last of the boxes had been mercilessly shoved into the back seat of Mark’s car, the boot already full to the brim with digital technology, design supplies and miscellaneous things. The desks and chairs stayed with the rented space.

“Hey Mark, did you want to keep this?” Jack had picked up a stray piece of paper from the ground as it danced on the autumn breeze. He sat on the bonnet of the car whilst Mark closed the boot. On the page was a doodle. It was a mustache, drawn in black marker and coloured in with pink highlighter. It was crudely done, though retained a certain charm only found in the quaint spaces of the world, where the quirky books and misshapen knickknacks lingered. That sort of charm.

Mark raised an eyebrow as he approached from the backside of the vehicle. He held it in his hands for a moment, laughing softly. “Naw, you can chuck it.”

“What is it?”

“A pink mustache, dummy.”

“Well I know that, asshole.” he rolled his eyes. Mark hopped up onto the bonnet with Jack. “Did you draw it?”

“Yeah," he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jack looked at him expectantly, "...why??"

"I dunno...it- well there was this, thing in college…”

“Kinda vague but _do_ go on.” He insisted.

“Some friends of mine, we…” He seemed to go red under the dim dusk light. “We did this news...thing...like, with characters and-” he sighed, then continued, “I had this alter ego, Wilfred Warfstache. He had a pink mustache and would interview famous characters and stuff. Thus,” he gestured to the paper in Jack’s hands, “this symbol was born.”

Jack had a sort of perplexed look. He scrunched his nose up. He squinted at Mark. Then, held the mustache up to Mark’s face, right where a mustache might be, and inspected. He nodded, folding the paper into quarters and pocketing it in his jeans, “Suits you.”

“Oh shut up…” Mark grumbled. “Ya know pink was actually the first colour I ever dyed my hair.”

“Really? Because of the mustache thing?” 

“Meh,” he held his knees to his chest. “Kinda. It was actually for this charity thing. We went around the streets of LA collecting money for the bipolar and depression foundation. Me and some of my buddies said we were gonna dye our hair - I guess I chose pink because of the Warfstache thing? I mean it certainly drew in donations, 'crazy Korean boy dyes hair pink!’. Heh, we shoulda used that as our slogan.”

“Now I woulda donated to that cause.”

“Aw you’re too kind.” Mark bumped Jack’s shoulder, smiling that goofy grin of his. 

“So what made you change to red?”

“Well the colour kinda faded to candyfloss-blonde-ombre, so then I dyed it blue.”

“ _Blue_?”

“Yah-huh. Then it kinda went purple-y blue, so I dyed it red. And I really liked it.” 

“Do you think you’ll get it re-done?”

“Oh yeah,” Mark ran a hand through his fading red floof. The sides had grown out quite a bit too. “For sure. What about you? Green’s pretty eccentric.”

“Ho boy...yeah I dyed it a little over a year ago. Ya know the Septic Studios logo, right?”

“Yeah...yeah it’s the company name in a little septic tube right? And it’s gre- oh.”

“It was an office party. Our first independant indie horror had just been released and we were obviously pretty fockin’ excited. I was kinda drunk, feelin’ kinda stupid, and _apparently_ I agreed to dye my hair green as a tribute to the company or somethin'. Next morning they’re dragging my hungover ass to the salon and,” he made explodey hands. You know the ones. “ _Boom_. Real life fockin’ leprechaun.”

“Wait, don’t leprechauns have ginger hair?”

“Not in my neck of the woods Marky. You gotta represent, man.”

“Hah alrighty then. That’s really cool! Maybe next time round you would prefer going with a nice red, hmm?”

“Oh you’d fockin’ like that wouldn’t ya.” The sounds of laughter upon the chilled air bought them past sunset, to the point where the dark outweighed the hues of indigo and tangerine. They sat on that car bonnet for a little while, making idle chatter. Every now and again a passerby would briskly pass them, or a car would douse them in yellow light. Ah, the perks of being on a quiet outer city street. They laid down on the bonnet, Mark every so smoothly slung an arm over Jack’s shoulders as they settled. In the smog above, a slight tincture of apricot clung to the sky. 

"What are you gonna do now that Game Theory's come to a standstill?" Jack spoke in a quiet tone.

"I...ya know, I'm really not sure. I don't think there's much point in continuing when our main funding is gone and an impotant half of the development team is out for the count. I'll think of something though, don't you worry." Jack couldn't help but worry, furrowing his brows. Mark sensed this, changing the subject. "Did you know I wanted to make videos at one point? Like, youtube videos, with a channel and everything."

"Yer shittin' me."

"Nope. Comedy sketches as a matter of fact. But hey, I've always had a passion for video games, I could always record myself playing those! I could be a full time youtuber!"

"You are such a loser." Jack chuckled, shaking his head.  
Mark was still a loser, though.

"Pft you're a loser...loser." Jack elbowed him in the gut. Mark grumbled, though Jack couldn't hide his smirk.

Jack almost felt like he could fall asleep right where he lay. The air carried a chill, but it was combated by the warmth provided by Mark's arm wrapped snugly around his shoulder.  
Give him another few minutes, and Jack _would_ have been asleep. It was a good thing he kept his eyes open though, otherwise he could have risked missing what was said next.

“I’m gonna miss you Jackaboy.” Mark whispered. Mark felt like he had to whisper. Around them in the distance, there was a hum from a bustling city igniting the air. But here, now, this was their moment. Mark wanted to keep it private, as if the roads had ears and pavements had eyes.

“Ya know what?” He whispered in reply. Jack was on his back, but when he turned his head it was resting on the brink of Mark’s chest. “I think I might miss you too, Markimoo.”

Mark sat up so his back was resting against the windshield. Jack followed suit. They were facing each other on an angle. It looked as though Mark was gonna say something, though he didn’t speak with words. He pulled Jack closer to him by cupping his jaw, and they kissed. Slow. It said every unspoken thought Mark hadn’t had the ability to say. They leaned into each other and let their hearts sing. 

Holy shit, Jack was really leaving. Going from the prospect of two years to barely a week, it was devastating. But perhaps it was better this way. Having to leave after two years of working in close accordance with Mark would be at least twice as shattering than only about two months all together. 

There was a certain desperation to their kiss now, like each man could sense the other’s unwillingness to accept the inevitable. Sighs and breaths dissolved into the air. Hands found their homes resting on hips and cupped upon cheeks. There was no telling how long they had been locked in such a manner, the hazy sky above giving no clues as to time’s movements.

Jack entered his apartment before hugging Mark goodbye. Tomorrow he’d leave, unsure of the future’s plans for him and Mark. And Matt. Fuck. He felt horrible about Matt. He’d said his goodbyes to both Matt and Steph yesterday. When he’d originally told them about Septic Studios’ decision to pull out, the initial shock was what really tore Jack up. You could see how Matt's posture seemed to sag further into the pillow, how the shape of his eyes drooped. It was the first time he’d seen someone’s dreams crushed right before his eyes. He felt like he’d just ripped the rug out from the one legged man and left him to pick up the pieces. It was truly depressing.  
_Enough of that_ , he thought to himself. Most of his stuff was packed, and his flight wasn’t until four thirty the next day anyway, so he pretty much went straight to bed. He wasn’t hungry.

Luckily he'd organised key disposal with his landlord already instead of having to worry about it the day he left. _Leave it on the counter in an envelope_.

The next morning brought an early wake up and numerous cups of coffee. Mark’d said he would pick up Jack at one so they could grab a bite before Jack had to be at the airport at two thirty. Jack passed the time by ensuring everything was packed up and in its proper order - he also made sure to leave the key in an envelope on the counter. Jack was shoving the jeans he wore yesterday into his bag when he heard the crinkling of paper. From the right front pocket of his jeans he produced the little doodle of the pink mustache. It made him smile. He smoothed out the crinkles and folded it neatly into his jacket pocket. His smile turned sour, corners of his mouth turning down into a sort of grimace. Accompanied by the furrowed brows, he looked truly sorrow ridden.

His bags were waiting by the door and he was playing piano tiles on his phone when there was a buzz at the intercom. He allowed Mark to enter without even checking the intercom. Thirty seconds later, there was a _dum dumdum dum dum, dum dum_ knock. He greeted Mark with a warm smile, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. Mark took the largest of Jack's bags, as per usual, and Jack grabbed the rest.

They drove to Santa Monica, obviously. Mark’s favorite freakin’ place. They had lunch at a Korean restaurant close to the waterfront. Jack impressed the server _and_ Mark with his Korean skills. And damn that was some good food.

They were practically silent on the way to the airport - which was only twenty minutes away. The radio was barely buzzing in the background. The latest Twenty One Pilots song - Heathens - finished playing and Story of my Life by One Direction took its place. Jack wasn’t all that interested in listening, so he pulled out his phone and mucked around, looking through his camera roll. That is until a resonant hum began to follow the melody. It was Mark. The humming became soft falsetto singing, then the chorus began. Mark raised the volume of his voice, though he was still apprehensive about getting any louder. Jack turned the radio up. Instantly, Mark was singing. Full out. Perfect melody and all. He didn’t care much for the band or the song itself, but Mark’s deep, rich voice singing with it made him want to listen to it all the time. By the time the song finished, Jack wanted to cry and clap and yell about how much he loved Mark's voice. He didn’t. He took Mark’s hand instead and gave him a big, hearty smile. They (mostly Mark) sung themselves to the airport. 

Jack felt surreal in an odd sort of way as he clamored out of Mark’s car. All he wanted was a little more time, was that too much to ask for? But that’s the thing about time, it always runs out. Whether he was in LA for the entire two year period, or another month, he’d have to leave eventually. It would hurt regardless of how much time they had. 

The international security gate was just up ahead, to their left.

“Looks like it’s my stop.” Jack tried for a lighthearted tone. It didn’t work out all that well.

“Looks like,” Mark replied. Jack had already checked in his main bag, and had with him his camera and laptop bags and carry on. “Guess this is it then.”

“For now, I guess it is.”

“You keep in contact, ya hear me Jackaboy? I wanna pay rocket league with you so I can kick your ass.”

Jack rolled his eyes, though he offered a small smile, “That sounds perfect.”

Jack wrapped his arms around Mark - Mark did the same to Jack. They held on tightly. Jack closed his eyes and felt his breath thin. He pretended he didn’t hear quiet sniffling from the person in which he held in his embrace. He pretended he didn’t have to leave. He pretended he didn’t feel his eyes sting as he opened them.

Their goodbyes were unceremonious. They didn’t even kiss. 

The entire thirteen and a half hour flight he wallowed in a melancholy sort of detachment. He arrived in Ireland with a heavy heart. Then, as he departed the international gate, a familiar head of magenta hair awaited him.

“Sean,” it said. “Welcome home.” Jack felt his stomach dip - and not in a pleasant way either, not like when he would look at Mark, when he would talk to-

He needed to get Mark out of his head.

“Hi,” he swallowed down the slight lump that had gathered at the bottom of his throat, “Vee.”

Vee smiled at him, gently taking his arm as he pushed his luggage trolley out of the airport terminal.


End file.
